


I Can Feel, I Can Hear

by Denstort



Category: Muse (Band)
Genre: Gen, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 05:22:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6552724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Denstort/pseuds/Denstort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew's POV.....a sequel to "Tell Me About The Rain"</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can Feel, I Can Hear

He thinks because I can no longer see, that I do not know when he is sad, upset or happy and other things. I may not have my eyes any more, but I still have my ears....and twenty years of using my ears to listen, meant they were already more attuned than most people’s, and my hands could feel the slightest vibration; even more so, now that I do not have my eyes.

I must admit that at first it was a frightening place, the darkness, especially when the first thirty-seven years of your life had so much colour and so much to see. But I grew used to it, you have to keep living. 

I can clearly remember that day, it plays like a movie in my head...the sound of the crowd as they sang in unison and the beautiful sight of uniformed moshing. I can hear the steady rhythm of Chris’ bass and the beat of Dom kick drums through my feet.....my whole body, and my heartbeat matches it.

Then the world came crashing down, in a shower of dust and sparks, and in those minutes of chaos life changed.

I wake up to the sound of rain, but I do not move at first, my body still tired from our love-making. My head is against his chest and can feel the steady rise and fall as he sleeps and one of my hands is draped across his stomach. I know every inch of his body, every curve, how every muscle moves, how his stomach muscles flutter when he’s about to come, how his arm muscles flex when he holds me down in the height of passion, I know every sigh and moan like my own. I take in a deep breath, taking in his scent, now so deeply ingrained in my memory, like so many thing now are.

I listen to his heartbeat for a few minutes, its steady rhythm assuring me that he is very much alive, but eventually the draw of the rain on the window is too much, and I get up. I hear the steady thump of my guide dog’s tail on the floor and I reassure him with a pat to his head, that I am not going far. I find the window seat with ease, the layout of our bedroom another thing ingrained in my memory...the whole house in fact.

But still he worries, even though I assure him that I and Hendrix...I know, can manage between us and our combined pride and stubbornness won’t let him help. It is then that I hear the frustration in his voice and sometimes the anger.

He is still angry at those that failed to maintain the building, I hear it in his voice when he is on the phone and he thinks I cannot hear him. I wish he would let go of the anger, as I have, but I suppose he never will.

I sigh and lay my hand against the window, feeling the rain as it hits the glass. These are one of the times that I miss my eyes; I used to love watching the rain. A wave of sadness washes over me as the thing I miss the most is seeing his face, those stormy grey eyes that would make my knees go weak, his golden hair that would shine in the sun...and I missed his smile, the smile that said ‘you idiot’ when I was being a prat...the smile that said ‘that’s bloody brilliant’ and that smile that said ‘I love you.’

He doesn’t smile enough these days, but he thinks I don’t know that, but I hear it in his voice and it makes my want to cry, but I can no longer shed tears.

I hear him get up and turn when he stops behind me and tells me to come back to bed, but I do not want to.

“Tell me about the rain?” I ask.

I hear him sigh and I hear the sadness in it. Then I feel his arms around me and his breath against my neck as he say.  
“The raindrops are quite large............”


End file.
